File four

  The dusty land engulfed them.

  The red stain rippled like water, despite the sand remaining solid.

  The hill on the horizon was soon stained by the bodies, their broken and disfigured spines piercing the sandy ground.

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  If Jack had paid attention, he would see the stone ripple, and the coarse voices of his passed friends begging him to leave, to run. Jack did not notice.

  Jack plummeted into the sand like it was thin air, his scream cut short through the ancient, dry air.

  Once again, the sands rippled and became a tone redder than before.

  Nobody ever takes out their binoculars early enough to inspect the hill, the ‘rocks.’ So, the rocks keep growing, like that of a growing child. A child named Uluru, cresting the horizon in majestic morbidity.